


Like Those Girls in the Magazines

by Lyssandra_Med



Series: One-Shot [67]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Muggle, F/F, Fluff, One Night Stands, Semi-smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:06:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26088415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyssandra_Med/pseuds/Lyssandra_Med
Summary: Hermione just wanted extra hours.Bellatrix just wanted a night of peace and quiet.Ginny just wants to laugh.Or; Ginny gets what she wants.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Series: One-Shot [67]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1429282
Comments: 7
Kudos: 110





	Like Those Girls in the Magazines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AliasGlasses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliasGlasses/gifts).



> Mild-Edit, prompt via Alias!

Silence. 

For one blessed moment where there was nothing and no one who could touch her, no way she could be asked an inane question or fawned over like some golden toy. That was all she was to them, she  _ knew _ that  _ she _ didn’t matter so much as it was that what she  _ represented _ mattered.

Bellatrix wouldn’t trade her fortune for anything in the world, but the fame? She’d give that away in a heartbeat if she could.

But for now it was silent.

The door was padded on the inside, mostly to prevent sound from leaking out but for now it accomplished the task in reverse. There would still be a small crowd outside, she knew that, but her bodyguards would be taking care of that. It was quiet here, unassuming in a way that most clubs could only feign at reaching. 

And she even had an exit strategy courtesy of Rodolphus’s forward-thinking.

Say what one would about her former paramour, he was nothing if not dutiful in his service. From lover to assistant, to bodyguard extraordinaire, there was nothing he hadn’t been able to accomplish once he set his mind to it. She’d have to thank him for this tomorrow, she was only here on his opinion and already it was an improvement over what she’d had planned.

“What was all that about?” a quiet voice asked Bellatrix, the sound of it soft enough that she was turning without reservation towards the bar. It was feminine instead of the gruff baritone of the man she’d been told to expect, and while that made the hairs raise up on the back of her neck she took a moment to still herself, reassured that she was alright by how calm that voice had sounded.

It was  _ supposed _ to be her night out. Booked in advance, she’d wanted nothing more than a night away with some peace and quiet. Antonin was supposed to serve her until she’d finished up and that was that. No one else. No paparazzi, no fans, no interviewers asking for her thoughts on topics she’d never heard of, let alone formulated an opinion on.

But Antonin wasn’t there.

“Ah, I was told to expect just one woman.” The speaker seemed unnerved by her continued silence in the face of a question unanswered. “Well then, what’ll you have?”

Bellatrix took her in. Long brown hair that flowed as she moved, a body and a face that spoke to her not being that much younger than Bellatrix herself. Maybe a year or two at most, but toned and lithe in a way that Bellatrix simply couldn’t maintain for her own job. Too muscular, but she didn’t wear it as a form of encumbrance.

Pretty in a way that most of Bellatrix’s prior romances had never been. Usually those were all models, women and some few men who had accrued fame and fortune before finding themselves presented before the crowds.  _ Most _ of them were also too high maintenance for Bellatrix.

This was nicer.

“Miss…?”

Oh, right. Conversation. She remembered how to do that.

“Long Island iced tea, if you wouldn’t mind.” Her order came out fluid and practised, just the barest lilt of her accent to give it a lift. She’d save her name for later. If this woman didn’t recognise her right off then that was just as well, it made things easier. “I would have thought Antonin would be here tonight.”

He  _ should _ have. She’d been told to expect him and him alone, not some random stranger off the street. He’d never once held an interest in her and knew to keep the conversation to a minimum, always willing to give her a fine respite when the world decided it wanted something  _ more _ from her. He’d float around from bar to bar, club to club, never staying long enough to build up much of a repertoire but always remaining in Rod’s little book of contacts, always willing to help her out.

But he wasn’t here.

The woman smiled at Bellatrix from her place behind the bar, “He’d been planning on it, but apparently his mother had a medical emergency. I drew the short straw, I supposed. He called me just an hour or two ago. I’m Hermione, by the way.”

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Hermione.” Bellatrix reached over the bartop and shook the proffered hand, noted the warmth of her grip and the calluses that spoke to strength and more than a passing familiarity with work.

She could  _ feel _ the flush that was rising up her cheeks, watched as Hermione ran a pair of golden eyes across her form. Shivered when she did the same.

Gods but the woman was  _ beautiful. _

Soon enough the drink was set before her, minutes turning over as she ran herself through the usual barroom banter she’d have indulged in were Antonin here. Topics so disparate as the weather, how shitty the hometown sports teams were, where the best places to park and snog without being ticketed were hidden. Mundane things.  _ Normal _ things. All the while she could feel the flush of heat spreading across her chest, her neck, cheeks so warm she could hardly believe she’d not burst into flames. Every drink set before her was down just a little bit slower, just one second longer, until eventually she felt well and truly loose.

Hours were whirled away.

Rod had long ago texted her that he’d be waiting around out back, let her know that she should leave with the barkeep when they left. It appeared that someone had decided to let Hermione in on that as well -  _ and Bellatrix quite assumed it was Antonin dealing with that, likely aware of the hour and how much he’d forgotten to tell Hermione about her only patron for the night _ \- and soon enough she was sitting beside Bellatrix on a stool and stretching out tired limbs.

“That’s that.” Her voice contained no small amount of exhaustion, “Three sharp, no more drinks. Want to settle?”

Bellatrix did, and quick. Last name, debit card, done and done before Hermione could even ask.

Waiting.

Apparently Hermione was aware enough of what she was -  _ some VIP or another that had rented the place out, no one more special than that _ \- to remain by Bellatrix’s side as she finished packing up. Counters were cleaned with abrupt efficiency, chairs flipped atop tables and lights knocked out with the flick of a manicured finger.

Their banter kept up as Hermione cleaned, the drinks in Bellatrix’s stomach giving her tongue a degree of liberation that would have had her cringing with embarrassment had she been sober. Or maybe it wouldn’t have. Hermione knew she might be someone important but she didn’t know  _ who _ Bellatrix was. She wasn’t asking any questions about what it was like to be wealthy and famous, she wasn’t hounding her for an autograph or staring glassy-eyed like she’d seen a Goddess.

Hermione was simply treating her like any other normal person. A person who had wealth perhaps but a  _ person _ nonetheless.

Maybe that was why Bellatrix decided to kiss her. Leaned herself in, let her tongue follow the curves of Hermione’s lips and punctuated her need with a soft bite. Pulled warmly on her bottom lip before tasting with her tongue.

Hermione hadn’t had anything to drink. Nothing at all and yet she responded to Bellatrix with all the eager care of someone who’d been on a date. 

Bellatrix supposed that if one were to squint their eyes, tilt their head, it might have actually been that. 

Hermione responded, crashed back against her as they stumbled through the back hallway for a snog.

Curious eyes staring up at Bellatrix as they waited for the car door to open up.

A soft question, “Want to-”

A kiss for an answer. A hushed yes that was patterned against the hollow of Bellatrix’s throat.

A short ride back to her home -  _ though she wasn’t sure which one, she’d not asked for anywhere specific _ \- that expanded as some pleasant blur of nothingness. Feelings instead of reality, actions instead of words. A body in her lap and the eager press of Hermione’s chest against her own, wandering hands going down one another’s pants while they giggled like schoolgirls on their first night out.

The walk up the front steps was much the same. Took too long for all their attempts at deviousness, all their desire free to view. The bed was soft, Bellatrix remembered that. The scream of pleasure so loud, the heat so strong she’d thought it might burn.

She remembered falling to sleep atop Hermione’s chest, both of them well-spent and drifting towards the darkness.

\---

Waking up was fun.

No hangover, and that itself wasn’t something she could label as a miracle only because Hermione was still in bed. Little looks exchanged between sleepy women, a pair of fingers wandering along her torso.

“Not that I don’t get the chance to have fun every now and then, but I don’t think I ever caught your name.” Hermione spoke her words as facts, pure and simple. There was no embarrassment in her tone, just the soft sounds of a woman who had known what she’d wanted. That Hermione appeared to  _ still _ want her was another boon.

Most women tended to treat her as if she were made of glass, far too fragile for anything except a few soft touches and appreciating glances.  _ Most _ women would have made off before the morning came, a few selfies taken with Bellatrix’s sleeping form and that was that.

But Bellatrix could still remember the events of last night, and Hermione had been sober. She’d not run, she’d not treated her as an object to worship.

She’d just treated her as a woman, plain and simple.

“Bellatrix Black.”

A few seconds of nothing. A few seconds of Hermione screwing up her face in confusion.

“Where do I know that from?”

Bellatrix shrugged.

Hermione did too.

“Oh well. You going to be kicking me out now?”

Bellatrix baulked, wide-eyed and startled, “No! I mean, well, no. I won’t.”

She took a second to settle her breath, traced Hermione’s lips with her fingertip, followed the curving dip of her clavicle and the rolling hills from ribs to hip. 

“Though I can’t exactly say I can make you breakfast. I’m not sure if there’s any cook’s here right now and I’ve never made a meal in my life. I’m afraid I’ll burn the place down if I try.”

Hermione laughed, rolled her eyes as she responded, “Well then come on.” 

Bellatrix suddenly found herself being yanked up off the bed, nude and all her skin tingling from the abrupt loss of heat. 

“I cook at the Three Brooms, I do bartending on the side. I might not be great but you can let me know if I fuck up too badly.”

Bellatrix smiled and followed her out into the kitchen.

\---

“Alright then, who was it?”

Ginerva was just as incessant as ever, loud and right up in Hermione’s face as soon as she entered their shared flat.

“You’re not even going to ask how I met her, are you? Just want to know her name so you can judge and say my-”

Ginerva placed a finger atop Hermione’s lips, a universal sign to silence her, “When have I ever judged your choices in love, hm? Now then, out with it. Who was she.”

While Ginerva returned to the couch with a fashion magazine spread open atop her lap and eyes only for the models held within, Hermione set her bag down and thought how best to answer. 

“She was a sweet lady. A little older than me, not by much. Lots of curls, all dark and gothic. Got her number too, and a promise of a repeat night.” Hermione let herself sag into the couch, the well-worn piece of furniture conforming to her body like a glove.

“None of that tells me her name, so out with it.” Ginny flipped a page, “Come on now. Was it Pavarti? She’s been eying you for weeks now, and she’s definitely got curls for days.”

Hermione let a little laugh escape her lips, “No, you wouldn’t know her. Some big wig, I think. Expected me to know her name. I played along a little but it meant nothing to me, haven’t had a chance to look her up yet. Like, it was familiar but I don’t know where from.”

“Please don’t keep me in suspense any longer, I might die.” Ginerva elbowed Hermione, flipping another page as she did so.

“Bellatrix Black-”

Ginerva squeaked, fell over sideways in her hast to turn towards Hermione, “Fucking  _ who?!” _

Hermione, quite puzzled and none too pleased at having been interrupted, repeated herself.

“Bellatrix Black. What, why-”

There wasn’t an audible answer. Ginerva started laughing instead, flipping through her magazine until she’d reached somewhere near the front.

There. Right  _ there. _ Bellatrix, nearly nude and staring at the sun from beneath a wide-brimmed sun hat painted black, her curls draping down her shoulders in a way that looked too formal to be real, too put together for Hermione to square it with the mess she’d played with just that morning.

“Well fuck me,” she uttered, voice stolen as she leaned in to look at the page.

Ginerva positively howled at that, laughing and shoving the magazine in Hermione’s face.

“I’d say she already fucking did!”


End file.
